Silver
by PaperMoonsandWolfstar
Summary: I glanced up, and our eyes met, and really, that was the beginning of the end.


I don't even know how it happened.

At times, I sit and wonder, staring into space and freaking out my friends as I go over it. Try to plan it chronologically, see the start. As Winston Churchill said, the further backwards you can go, the further forward you can see.

Not that I need the ability to look forward to know this will end badly.

Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe I'm bad, rotten to the core, a freak, just like Petunia said.

I don't know.

All I really know is that one day, I was sat on James' knee, feeding him toast and giggling like an idiot when butter dripped down his chin.

And the next day was so very similar, except this time, I glanced up.

I glanced up, and our eyes met, and really, that was the beginning of the end.

* * *

You have to be pretty screwed up to fall in love with your boyfriend's best friend.

Can you call it love? Isn't love supposed to be obsession, monogamy? Being so comfortable with the person that you're with that you forget about the concept of other people completely?

I used to think it was. When I was fifteen, I thought love was pure, open, easy in every sense of the word. I thought that love was elusive, sought after by so many, and when it was finally discovered, it hit you like a ton of bricks.

I really thought that by getting together with James, I'd found that ever-mysterious love.

Nothing ever really hit me, if I'm honest.

When I looked at him, I was filled with a sense of warmth, of contentment.

When he kissed me, I'd feel…I don't know, I guess, a sense of comfort.

I mean, I never got butterflies, but James had pursued me for so long, that was to be expected, right?

I never felt lucky to be in James' arms because somehow I always knew I'd end up there.

And I started to think, maybe this is love. Maybe this is what I've been after all along.

It was never terribly exciting, but people don't get married because their partner excites them.

It was comfortable, being with James, because he was always so constant.

If I had a bad day, I knew I could run to him and hug him to cheer me up. I knew if I wanted to study, I could sit with him and study.

I had someone to chatter to my friends about, finally, to do cute couple things with, to kiss on lazy Sunday afternoons to the sound of the downpour.

But that day, that stupid, fated day, something was niggling under my belly button, something in my gut was telling me I had to look up.

And I did. I tilted my head up, scanned the area around me, broke eye contact with James, and made it with him.

Sirius.

It took maybe a tenth of a second to comprehend that Sirius was staring at me, but when it finally sunk in, my stomach filled with a sensation that I've not felt in a long, long while.

Butterflies.

One of my hands moved to my abdomen, shock radiating through my eyes, brow furrowing with confusion.

I bit my lip, searching for answers in his gaze.

I remember that day so incredibly clearly, because watery sunlight was leaking in through the windows, illuminating his face and making his ivory skin seem impossibly white.

I remember that his lids were narrowed, ever so slightly, and his eyelashes seemed darker, like charcoal.

But most of all, I noticed his eyes, the colour of frozen steel, and the way they seemed to _smoulder_ when he looked at me.

Lips the colour of a day old burn pulled up into a lazy smirk, and intricate hands grasped at his bag strap as he stood up, posture filled with grace.

James' voice broke through my stupor, a question on his innocent mouth.

I hadn't even heard the bell ring.

* * *

And so it continued, for days on end.

It's not like I could avoid him, because he was my boyfriend's best friend. He was there next to me almost as much as James was, cracking jokes, opening Butterbeer bottles on his sharp teeth, constantly making deer puns that I never really understood, but that seemed to really wind James up for some reason.

The glances turned into looks, and then stares, building in intensity; a quiet heat building up behind his irises.

I started noticing things about him, like the deep ring of grey around his silver eyes, and the sharpness of his smell, and the way his tongue stuck out ever so slightly when he was concentrating.

James never noticed a thing, so blinded by his feelings for me that he missed it completely.

Perhaps Cupid shot me twice by mistake, or perhaps on purpose, just to be a tosser.

And if that had been that, maybe I could have pretended the sexual tension between Sirius and I didn't exist. Went on to marry James, and spent the rest of my life in denial.

* * *

A smile cracks my cheeks, and I glance up, eyes so crinkled with amusement that I can hardly see out of them.

"What's up?" James asks, glancing up from over his glasses.

"That laugh." I say, looking around the room, searching for the source of the noise.

Somebody is giggling uncontrollably, a boy, in an uncensored, truly amused way, and it's filling my chest with… _something._

"Are you talking about Sirius?" James asks, his brow furrowed.

"What?" I say, a little too quickly, my neck snapping round to meet his hazel eyes.

James continues to stare at me as my eyes slide past him, catching a glimpse of the fireplace.

Remus is knelt next to the sofa, holding a book aloft, and Sirius is lying on said couch, rolling around in tears of laughter. His voice is filling the entire common room, causing a few rolled eyes, and yet I can't seem to tear my eyes away from his flushed cheeks, the glimmer of his teeth.

"Lily!" James says, frustrated, and I return my eyes to his.

"Yeah?" I say, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear and turning a page of the book in front of me.

"I _said,_ were you talking about Sirius?" he asks again, eyes searching my own.

"Oh. Right. Yeah. There's really no need to laugh that loud, he's distracting the whole common room!" I say indignantly.

His lashes lower, seemingly buying the charade, and I make a point of keeping my unseeing eyes glued to the page.

* * *

"Let me help you with that, Evans."

I freeze as I feel long, thin fingers grasp the zip of my dress, yanking it up with a sharp noise that does nothing to shatter the tension that's gathered over us like an icy shawl.

He lets go after half a moment too long, fingertips barely trailing across the nape of my neck.

"Thanks." I murmur, biting my lip, turning round with a gentle swish, dress rustling.

He reaches out to my chest, taking hold of the pendent hanging around my neck and turning it the right way round. He lets go, and it hits my ribs with a gentle thud.

"There. Perfect." he says under his breath, but I still hear, and my eyes sweep up to meet his, stomach bracing for the inevitable onslaught of butterflies.

I see universes in his silver eyes as they search mine, and find myself taking a step closer, until we're inches away, until I can feel his exhales across my cheeks.

His lids are lowered, a slight smirk pulling up the right corner of his lid, and he's studying me, with curled lips and blown up pupils, and suddenly I feel so much more exposed than I ever did full naked in front of James.

"Guys?"

A curious voice breaks the moment, and we step away from each other instinctively, my arms wrapping around my waist, his hands shoved inside his pockets.

"Hey Pete." Sirius says, easily, smiling at his friend, who's innocent face holds only the slightest murmur of suspicion.

Sirius steps forward, shirt sleeves rolled up, following Peter out of the room, and if he glances back as he leaves, I don't see, because I've already turned around.

I'm staring at his black blazer, tossed messily over the back of the couch, as I hear the door snap shut.

* * *

"I need to give this back to Sirius." I say to James, his blazer tossed over my forearm, walking away as quickly as I met him.

I lose myself in the crowd, through mists of sickly perfume and musty cologne concealing the stale stench of sweat, searching for one specific pair of dirty eyes and finding nothing even remotely close.

I grab a drink, and then another, continuously circling and circling until a haze has descended across my conscious, and I still haven't bloody found him.

I'm all for giving up, and delving back into the dance floor to find James and his hurt cocoa eyes, when a cold hand touches my shoulder, spinning me round and dragging me into the midst of the music.

Of course, it's him, alcohol tinged on every warm exhale that flutters across my cheekbones, a liquid grin and messy hair.

His arms circle my waist, spinning me around, and I feel like I'm floating on air, delight filling my lungs as I turn back to face his smile, the delight swimming in the scummy midst of his bright eyes.

"I believe you have something of mine, Evans." he calls, over pulsing music, and I push the jacket into his arms, reluctant to let the soft black material go but knowing I have to.

He takes it with one hand, tossing it over his shoulder, yet he doesn't let me go.

And so we dance, through pink clouds of smoke and glittering spark of gold, his smile etched on my dizzy brain as my cares disappear into the wavering wind, laughter spilling from my lips.

He pulls me close, and I can feel his heart hammering, filling me with confidence, and something in the air infects me, pushing me onto my toes and pressing our lips together.

* * *

The next thing I know, I'm sat on a cold floor, wet with whiskey, the back of my dress completely ruined, staring at disbelief at the scene in front of me.

Somebody offers a hand to help me up, but I can't move, my eyes glued in shock on James' heaving form as he straddles Sirius, punching again, and again, and again, blood clinging to his trembling knuckles.

I'm sure I scream his name, but it's lost in the yells of a testosterone infused crowd, shrieking and cheering as they gather in an airtight circle that refuses to let any source of prevention through.

My cheeks are wet, lips that were so warm now cold with salt water. My chin is trembling, and I almost scream in relief when the teachers burst through the crowd, wrapping arms around James' torso and hauling him away from Sirius, who's lay on the ground, and he isn't _moving_

* * *

 _"_ You kissed him."

James is sat on the bed, legs tense and pressed together, arms neatly rested on top, knuckles torn and weeping.

It's the day after the ball, and I'm sat cross legged in front of James, picking dirt out of the carpet, reluctant to meet his eyes.

I nod.

I hear James' exhale, not having to look up to know his fists have clenched, that his brow is furrowed into an angry mask.

"It wasn't his fault." I say softly. "He was pushing me away, but then you grabbed him…"

I trail off, eyes flickering to the bed near to James, the curtains tightly drawn.

James literally knocked Sirius into the next day, because he lost consciousness halfway through James' assault and still hasn't woken up. Remus begged Madame Pomfrey to keep Sirius in the room, making promises that he'll ensure Sirius received the best care, and perhaps only because she has a soft spot for Remus, she said yes.

Remus is downstairs right now, only trusting James in the same room as Sirius because I'm there, trying my best to explain the mess that is my brain.

"It should have been me that you hit." I whisper, and James lets out a heavy sigh, sliding off the bed and sitting next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder as tears spill from my eyes.

"You know I'd never do that, Lils." he mutters, and I nod as more tears come. "I just need to know…why'd you do it? Why'd you kiss him?"

"I was drunk, he was drunk, it was a huge mistake, Jamie I'm so sorry." I sob, clinging to his neck, begging him not to leave me.

His fingers rub soothing circles on my back, calming down my ragged breathing.

"Shh." he says gently, and I nod against his chest, sniffing.

He wraps his arms around me, giving me a long hug, and as my swollen eyelids slip open again, I see a flash of silver disappear behind a red curtain.

"I'm sorry." I mouth into the empty air, as emptiness fills my aching stomach, and I return James' hug.

Despite my relief at his forgiveness, I can't help but swallow a little bit of metallic regret at what could have been, ash coloured eyes haunting my lids as they slip closed.


End file.
